Veronica
06-11-2010, 11:30 AM
Before I moved to Russia, I thought there were only three types of men.
Now, I’m absolutely sure of it.
The first category of men is best illustrated with this little story involving one of my husbands. For our honeymoon, we took the Orient Express down to Istanbul and then sailed around the Turkish coast. One day we decided to take a stroll on shore and as we were ambling along, a gigantic prehistoric-looking lizard began to race aggressively down the path towards us.
As the creature neared, my brand-new husband violently threw me in front of it and turned and ran screaming in the other direction.
The second type of guy is best illustrated with this little story involving my New Zealander boyfriend. We were once free camping in the wilds of Africa. We were sitting around a campfire in Namibia after dinner one night when something furry brushed NZB’s leg. Without a word of warning, NZB toppled over his chair and ran into the woods. But at least he didn’t throw me in front of the animal a la my hubbie. And at least he didn’t scream.
Anxiously looking about to see what had spooked NZB, I spotted a domesticated cat.
“It’s just a little kitty cat,” I called, holding the feline up in the air so that NZB could spot it from his cover in the bush. “You can come out now.”
The final category of men is best illustrated with this little story involving a lover of mine. We were sipping champagne at a bar in Adelaide, Australia when a waitress accidentally dropped a tray of glasses. Without hesitation, this man jumped in front of me and protectively spread out his arms to guard me from whatever unlikely danger might be lurking around in that fine establishment.
No matter how courageous we might be, we women have a certain expectation of being saved from peril by the men around us. Particularly by the men we are involved with.
When I moved to Moscow, I thought that either every fellow in Russia would fall into the Adelaide Category or that I’d discover yet another category here. I was completely prepared for a new Moscow Category. For instance, I thought that perhaps Russian men might fight to protect you when it wasn’t necessary.
But, alas, I was wrong.
Western guys in Moscow are just as scared of the dangers here as Western women are, and so these men generally fall into the Namibia Category: it’s every (Western) man for himself in these parts, ladies.
As for the Russian guys, well, they are too busy fighting with you to fight anyone else on your behalf.
I’ve encountered a lot of danger in my life, from living in Russia to being shoved in front of incoming giant lizards.
But the biggest danger I’ve ever faced is this: you can’t know which category your man falls into until it’s way too late.
Of course, every man will tell you he falls into the Adelaide Category and deride the very idea of men who inhabit the Turkey Category. When you’re falling in love with a new man, he will proudly tell you endless anecdotes about his past demonstrations of prowess and bravery.
(For example, I recently heard a man tell his new lover, “Once I was taking a shower and someone broke into my flat – and I chased them down the street stark naked!”)
But all that goes for naught when you watch your husband madly flailing his arms as he flees for his life.
Particularly when you witness this scene: (1) after being knocked to the ground and (2) after seeing a terrified giant lizard running frantically for its life in the opposite direction.
xxoo
DD
Deidre Dare
Now, I’m absolutely sure of it.
The first category of men is best illustrated with this little story involving one of my husbands. For our honeymoon, we took the Orient Express down to Istanbul and then sailed around the Turkish coast. One day we decided to take a stroll on shore and as we were ambling along, a gigantic prehistoric-looking lizard began to race aggressively down the path towards us.
As the creature neared, my brand-new husband violently threw me in front of it and turned and ran screaming in the other direction.
The second type of guy is best illustrated with this little story involving my New Zealander boyfriend. We were once free camping in the wilds of Africa. We were sitting around a campfire in Namibia after dinner one night when something furry brushed NZB’s leg. Without a word of warning, NZB toppled over his chair and ran into the woods. But at least he didn’t throw me in front of the animal a la my hubbie. And at least he didn’t scream.
Anxiously looking about to see what had spooked NZB, I spotted a domesticated cat.
“It’s just a little kitty cat,” I called, holding the feline up in the air so that NZB could spot it from his cover in the bush. “You can come out now.”
The final category of men is best illustrated with this little story involving a lover of mine. We were sipping champagne at a bar in Adelaide, Australia when a waitress accidentally dropped a tray of glasses. Without hesitation, this man jumped in front of me and protectively spread out his arms to guard me from whatever unlikely danger might be lurking around in that fine establishment.
No matter how courageous we might be, we women have a certain expectation of being saved from peril by the men around us. Particularly by the men we are involved with.
When I moved to Moscow, I thought that either every fellow in Russia would fall into the Adelaide Category or that I’d discover yet another category here. I was completely prepared for a new Moscow Category. For instance, I thought that perhaps Russian men might fight to protect you when it wasn’t necessary.
But, alas, I was wrong.
Western guys in Moscow are just as scared of the dangers here as Western women are, and so these men generally fall into the Namibia Category: it’s every (Western) man for himself in these parts, ladies.
As for the Russian guys, well, they are too busy fighting with you to fight anyone else on your behalf.
I’ve encountered a lot of danger in my life, from living in Russia to being shoved in front of incoming giant lizards.
But the biggest danger I’ve ever faced is this: you can’t know which category your man falls into until it’s way too late.
Of course, every man will tell you he falls into the Adelaide Category and deride the very idea of men who inhabit the Turkey Category. When you’re falling in love with a new man, he will proudly tell you endless anecdotes about his past demonstrations of prowess and bravery.
(For example, I recently heard a man tell his new lover, “Once I was taking a shower and someone broke into my flat – and I chased them down the street stark naked!”)
But all that goes for naught when you watch your husband madly flailing his arms as he flees for his life.
Particularly when you witness this scene: (1) after being knocked to the ground and (2) after seeing a terrified giant lizard running frantically for its life in the opposite direction.
xxoo
DD
Deidre Dare